Lamentation
by sgkm79
Summary: I just need time to heal. I loved her, too.Was formerly Cry to the Wind
1. Default Chapter

Cry to the Wind

Disclaimer: I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox. Please don't sue.

Dedication: For WPS, who reminded me of how to love.

AN: Quicksilver, Pietro Maximoff, is Magneto's son. His mutation is speed. Post X-2, I wanted to see explore how Jean's death affected the ones we never hear about.

Rating: PG-13, just in case. Not the happiest piece ever.

~~~~

He's not the best friend, this time. 

He's not the best friend, or the lover, or the mentor. He's not even the temptation. This time, he's just the boy who falls in love too easily with the woman he knew he could never have. He's the one no one checks on, afterwards, because he didn't lose anything but a teacher, and that hardly makes him unique. 

This time, he doesn't have even Bobby's claim to pity; he didn't see her die, he didn't lose his best friend. He didn't lose his protégé, or his fiancée, or the object of his lust. He was nothing but a former student to the woman who died, and somehow that makes this all the more difficult. 

~~~~

He's always known that he'll never marry the love of his life. 

That would be too perfect, too much a fairy tale. That fate, he knows, is reserved for the man with red eyes. It would be too easy, and God knows that never happens to him. He has known since the day he fell in love with her that she will never be his. 

She had already met her other half, and it wasn't the scrawny boy she once instructed every other day in physics. It certainly would never be the son of the man who seemed to cause all the problems in her life. No, she found her soul mate in Scott, the Fearless Leader, and he can't even summon the jealousy he knows he should feel, even when he realizes that Cyclops is only two years older than him. 

He's happy for her, even when Scott proposes in the middle of lunch on a day that Ororo assured would be sunny, even when he knows that he'll be alone. He knows that she will never choose him, but he's happy with that because he still has her friendship. So he knows that he will have to settle for someone else, and he hates himself for that thought. He's lost her once, but he never expects to lose her a second time.

~~~~

He doesn't find out until the day after it happens, when the team comes limping back to their temporary safe house in Boston with one Warren Worthington. It is Ash Wednesday, and though he isn't religious even in the faith of his father, the irony strikes him as Fate's cruel joke. 

He's sitting alone in his room, pretending to study for his Japanese final and wondering why he still lives at the mansion. He knows it would be easier to live on campus, and once he graduates in May, it would be foolish to continue to live with a group of teenagers. He's never been a part of the X-Men, especially now, with his father in a plastic bubble, placed there by his former best friend. Especially now, with the mansion being attacked and their sanctuary jeopardized. He knows he should leave, but he's too afraid to move out of the only home he's ever known. 

He looks up to see Wanda standing in the doorway. 

He notes the redness of her eyes, and of those belonging to the colossus standing behind her; a boy who shares his name. They have this connection, even though they're rivals, and he wonders if that connection is what brought him here today. He doesn't understand the sympathy he sees in their eyes. Wanda is speaking to him, but his mind goes fuzzy. 

Through the haze surrounding him, he hears only one thing: she's dead. He nods curtly, thanks them for coming, and gently pushes them out of his room.

 Even alone, he doesn't cry. 

He understands now, their sympathy. They think they understand how much he loves her. He tries to stand, and is surprised to find that he's sitting. 

His body betrays him, and his knees buckle underneath him. He barely makes it into the bathroom, and his stomach empties itself of everything in it. Looking in the mirror, he sees the shadows that have already appeared underneath his eyes. His hands shake, and he can't focus his mind. He still doesn't cry.

~~~~

Nobody comes to check on him. 

When he walks down the hall, he is greeted with the subdued energy of teenagers in mourning. Everyone had tired quickly of his overwhelming grief, so now he works tirelessly to hide it. No one notices. 

Everyone is too busy making sure Cyclops doesn't do something drastic, keeping Storm calm (the sporadic rainstorms show just how upset she really is, avoiding Wolverine, and turning a blind eye to Rogue and Bobby's behavior (if they professor didn't have a problem with them sharing a room, no one else will say differently).

 They are all so deeply hurt everything is excused. No one notices Quicksilver, and he is too proud to ask for help. He grieves privately, and still doesn't cry. Crying means acceptance, and he knows he isn't there yet.

~~~~

He runs into Wolverine and Cyclops one day not long after, talking outside the Professor's office. He misses the first part, but hears enough to know what it is that they're talking about. 

"She chose you."

 He shakes his head, wondering how even the big bad Wolverine can be so callous as to think that she might have chosen otherwise. He doesn't understand how someone could try to break what she had with Scott. She was happy, and that should be enough for anyone who claims to love her. 

He thinks, it always was for me.

~~~~

He remembers falling in love with her. 

It wasn't his first day at Xavier's, or even his first year. True, he had liked her, but it had been just a childhood crush, the type that little boys so frequently have on older women. No, he didn't fall in love with her till many years later.

 He turned eighteen, she was pushing thirty. 

His father had just begun to be a real nuisance to the plans of the X-Men. His fellow students ridiculed him for his familial ties, but she had just smiled and put an end to it. They talked that night, well into morning, about their fears of what Magneto would do, and their dreams of what the world could be. 

She listened, and talked, and in the end, smiled at him in a way that made him feel loved. In the four years between that point and the day she died, they were friends, and he watched as she fell in love with Scott. He said goodbye and wished her luck in his mind. He went out of his way to ensure that they were happy. He remembers this in his room, this moment and a thousand others that he shares only with her.

 He remembers, and he finally cries.

~~~~

It's the day of the funeral. 

Scott is there, of course, and Logan. They stand together, almost in a manner that is supportive, and he wonders at the change. Ororo sits, clasping the Professor's hand tightly in her own, and they students encircle them. He stands alone, Wanda and Pietro near him, but keeping their distance. 

They think this will good for him, cauterizing. He fears saying goodbye to his best friend and the woman he wants to marry. He thinks about the times they won't have together, the moments that they won't share. He thinks about what they could have had.

 For the second time, he cries. 

Only those nearest to him notice; only Wanda and Pietro care. Even they don't understand. He receives no comfort, because in the eyes of his fellows, he lost nothing more than a teacher. He knows he is not the one hurting the most, and that the others have more reason for grief, but he can't help but wish they would notice his pain. 

Even now, he doesn't begrudge Scott what he had; he knows that his pain is more than he can ever imagine. He cries because he will never know what it is like to wake up beside her, to hold her, to love her and be loved in return. 

He cries because he doesn't even warrant the same sympathy that Logan does. The students look at him and say, poor Logan, he loved her and never got a chance. He knows that Logan never loved her. He sees the way he watched Rogue, and he knows that Logan simply lusted after her. He cries to the wind that he would die for an instant with her, just to say goodbye.

 The wind, proof of Ororo's emotional state, doesn't answer.

~~~~

Two days later, he goes to the Professor's office. He says, I'm leaving. 

I know. 

I can't stay here anymore. I can't . . . 

Pietro, I understand. I would never force you to stay here. But know that you are always welcome back. 

I wasn't sure . . . 

The sins of the father are not visited upon the son. You are our family. 

I just need time to heal. I loved her, too.

I know.

~~~~

He's not the best friend, or the lover, or the mentor. He's not even the temptation. He's just the boy who fell in love too easily. And somehow, that makes leaving all the more difficult.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two.

Wasn't planning on doing this, but who am I to fight with inspiration?

Still for Will, because I love you no matter what.

Note on archiving: if you want it, go for it, just let me know so I can visit.

~~~~~

Leaving is easier than staying. 

Courtesy, for once, of no one but himself, he flies to Italy to seek closure. Why he expects to find it in Italy, he doesn't know, but he picks Florence and tries to blend in. 

Here, at least, he can grieve when he wishes.

 He is grateful to his parents, now, for the genes that allow him to be seen as a local and not as a tourist. 

He meets a girl one night, at a club. She's pretty enough and moves with a grace that suggest years of athleticism. He dances with her, and asks her name. He doesn't hear what she says, but catches sixteen when he asks her age. Emboldened by the shots he's already taken, tries to kiss her. She turns her head so he gets her earful. He leans in and sees her eyes. Slightly wide with fear, they're eyes he's seen before—on a red head he loves. Strong and determined, with an infinite capacity for love, the eyes are a haunting reminder. 

He flees the club, ashamed of his behavior, heart aching with loss.

~~~~~

He stops this time in Paris. 

He wonders briefly what his father would say about his choice of countries; shakes his head. He doesn't care. He wanders about the city, trying to shake the grief that has only thickened since being in Florence.

 For the hundredth time, he considers calling home. He doesn't know when he started thinking of Westchester as home, but figures it might have been about the time his father started trying to kill of humanity.

He doesn't like Paris. He doesn't understand the French, or their arrogance. Then again, the only arrogance he does understand is his own. After all, how many people have super speed?

~~~~~

Next is Amsterdam. 

Again, he doesn't know why, and again, he wishes he could stop running. He tries, this time, but three weeks after moving into an apartment, he meets another tenet with red hair. He pays the lease and leaves two days later.

~~~~~

In Berlin, he finally calls home. 

It's been six months and he's had no contact any familiar faces. He feels guilty, not only because of the lack of communication, but also because he knows that out of all the countries he's visited, his father would approve the least of Germany. 

He thinks, But I'm not calling my father. Not my biological one, at least. 

Calling the mansion, he hears, Xavier's School for the Gifted, Bobby Drake speaking, how may I help you?

 I need to speak with Professor Xavier, he says, wondering at Bobby's seemingly new responsibilities. 

Bobby asks, May I say who's calling?

For a moment, he doesn't know what to say. Finally, 

It's his son.

Then, Hello Pietro. 

How did you. . .?

Bobby recognized your voice. Don't worry, he knows how to be discreet. 

I'm surprised you trust him so much.

He's been through much. He's grown up. He is not the person he was before. Nor are you, he doesn't say.

I'm in Berlin.

Silence.

Does Eric know?

I haven't talked to him in years. Why would I now, when I know he wouldn't approve?

Again, silence.

Why didn't you ever ask me to join the X-men? He asks in a voice quiet with an old hurt.

I didn't think you wanted to. You never showed any interest. . . .

You asked Wolverine. Sought him out and practically begged him, when he showed no interest. 

I thought you were too young.

He cuts him off. Professor, is Bobby an X-man?

Yes.

He's not too young?

Bobby has been through much.

Yes. So have I, hangs in the air. 

Pause.

  
Did you not trust me? Did you think I would betray you? The sins of the father . . .

It was never that. I didn't think you would wish to confront your father, should the need arise. 

You do. And you've always been closer. And . . . 

Pietro, were you waiting for an invitation?

I lived at the mansion for nine years.

~~~~~

He leaves as soon as he can because he knows the professor will send someone to retrieve him, and he's going to be dragged back, he will make them work for it. Right now, he doesn't want to see the X-men, and he doesn't want to be offered a spot on the team out of pity. 

This time, he chooses Moscow.

~~~~~

He likes Russia. It is at once unfamiliar and utterly enticing. 

What he doesn't like is being followed.

Because he is in Russia, he at first assumes that it is the KGB or their successors, but with careful timing, he discovers that it is no one but John Proudstar. He ducks into a bar and waits for him to follow.

He is there 45 minutes before John makes his entry behind a group of loud British tourists. He waves him over to the table where an extra shot of Bourbon is waiting for him. 

John looks embarrassed, but even now exudes grace and dignity.

Did Xavier send you? Are you an X-man now, too? He cuts to the chase, leaving no room for niceties. 

John blushes faintly but doesn't look away.

 No, Scott and Storm dropped me off in the Blackbird on their way to Tokyo. He adds, I think they wanted to blindfold my eyes so I couldn't see anything.

Great. So I don't even warrant the baby X-man, then. Good to be valued. He doesn't mean to sound as bitter as he does, but he can't help it and can't find the energy to care. 

John starts to say something, but he cuts him off. 

Never mind. Now that you have me, what do you want?

John shakes his head. The professor was worried. He wanted someone to make sure that you are alright.

Why you. It's a demand, not a question. 

He didn't want to send Bobby or Scott. Definitely not Logan. I was deemed the least offensive, as it were. I'm just supposed to deliver a message. The prodigal son was always welcome home. 

John rises and begins to leave, but Pietro's voice stops him. 

He could have used Cerebro at any time to find me. Why now?

He wanted to give you time. He knew you weren't ready to come home before. Are you now?

Pietro looks at him, then away. 

The only sound is the soft footfalls of John's feet carrying him out the door. 

~~~~~

He changes direction abruptly, heading away from Tokyo, the X-men, and memories he can't deal with yet. 

He can't pinpoint his reactions anymore. He's angry frequently now, and explodes at random times and random people. The happy ones are the worst. The grief that he almost pulled himself out of, that he almost managed to forget, threatens to consume him again. His mood swings become a part of daily life, and he feels more comfortable on gray, sunless days. Days that in no way resemble _that_ day. 

He can't stand pity.

He meets few people, and talks to them because he has no one else to talk to. They ask why he can't listen to that song on the radio, why that perfume scent drives him away, why he's been running for almost a year. So, he tells them a story.

He tells them about a woman, the first he ever loved, and that she died. They never found a body, he says, the lake where she drowned turned up no evidence. The he tells them about her smile and the way her eyes lit up with joy. How she was patient and kind and loving. How she gave the very best hugs and could make you feel as if you were the only person in the world. 

Then, he tells them about how he came to fall in love with her, how he never loved before her, how he feels he will never love again.

And when these people are dew-eyed at his story, he tells them how she loved someone else, how she died with someone else's ring on her finger.

He tells them how he used to hope that she would wait for him. 

He tells them how he never got a chance to see if she would.

~~~~~

The day after he tells them this, he's running again. Because running is easier than staying.


	3. Chapter Three

He doesn't stop running until he reaches Virginia. Land of intolerance it is, he feels at home in its blue mountains and green valleys. Out of Richmond International Airport, he sets off west and east.

 East, but not towards home.

He doesn't yet know what he's looking for, but the solitude suits his mood. He is overcome by an urge to hug her, and nearly cries when he can't. He feels guilty, now, about that: he has only cried twice since her death, only once in front of others. 

At the funeral, with a body that wasn't there.

He wonders if that made it worse, not seeing a body, not having the visual proof he wishes he had. He thinks about it, and shudders at the thought of seeing her body lifeless, with out the spark that made her who she was, with out the glow that seemed to surround her in life. Now, he is glad he never saw a body. 

That night, he cries for the third time.

~~~~~

He reaches the Shenandoah Mountains along the border of West Virginia. Here, towns exist whose populations never reach fifty. Still, he feels the need to continue on. He stops, when he reaches a town whose name he doesn't bother to learn.

It seems to him to be a retreat type of place, all but deserted in the cold winter months. He follows a well beaten road up to the top of this mountains, past a stone pavilion, and a ball field filled with now dead grass, to find a row of twelve cabins and two rec halls. 

He doesn't need to be a telepath to feel the emotions embedded in this place: joy unhindered, love, acceptance. And, there, just below the surface, is an almost tangible grief that seems to permeate every inch of the area. A camp, he decides, with no one to care for it until the summer months come and the campers return. 

Though the cabins look cold, he decides to stay here instead of the more insulated cabins further down the hill. He likes the isolation the camp offers, so he picks cabin number four and settles into his temporary home.

~~~~~

It's his fifth week here, and somehow, he has managed to insulate the old wooden cabin against the harsh elements of a Virginia winter. He grateful for the electricity that runs into the cabin, and to the person who didn't shut it off for winter, especially after a clandestine trip to the nearest city where he appropriated a small heater for himself. 

Blankets hang on the inside of each window to keep out the cold, and tarps on the outside to keep out the rain. In the closet set against the farthest wall, he keeps canned foods. Not him food of choice, it is none the less easier to prepare with the camping stove he discovered one day in the last cabin. 

There is no doubt in his mind now that this place is a camp, and most of the emotions prevalent are easily explained by the teenagers that must inhabit the mountain during warmer weather. The grief, however, is the one that he does not understand.

That remains a mystery, until the seventh week.

~~~~~

It's now December, and he's been running for a year and a half. He wonders how he managed to spend six months traveling across the state of Virginia, but he's glad he found this place in the winter, when it's unused and available.

It is a day that is unusually bright for the time of year, and he finds, amongst the graffiti covering the walls, the reason behind the grief.

A small inscription. Angels slept here, followed by a name, and two dates. The last one a day early in March of this year. Following that, another quote. I love this place and I love you.

He realizes that this is why the feeling of grief remains, but he is still too consumed by his own, and can't find the energy to care about a man he never knew. 

~~~~~

In the tenth week, he begins to wish for something new.

He wishes that he could believe, for once, in ghosts. 

He wishes for a haunting by a green eyed, red headed ghost, who would reach out to him and tell him she loves him. He wishes for an absolution, and a chance to say goodbye. He wishes for one last glance.

~~~~~

He thinks he should be over this by now; if Scott can move on so quickly, why can't he? He still hasn't come to grips with reality, and this frustrates him. His inability to recover and move on haunts him. His entire life, he has been practical, but now, with this, all his practicality has failed him.

He begins to doubt. He's no longer sure of his love for her. He can't remember the months before her death, if he felt this strongly. He questions himself. A crush amplified into something it was not by grief, he tells himself. 

He can't remember, and he can't think, and he can't focus.  A mantra, in his head

I I just I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need I just need

TIME.

He has hade more than a year, he doesn't know how much longer he can take. Now, he notices a man, standing in the doorway, looking angry, distrustful, bereaved. 

The man asks in a voice low and dangerous, What are you doing here?

Pietro doesn't answer, so the man continues. 

Someone noticed the electric bill was a little high for a place that shouldn't be using any electricity this time of year. So tell me who you are and why you are here. 

I was looking for a place to heal.

At hearing this, the man looks even older, and now Pietro notices that he is not much older than himself.

You picked the wrong place. Before, maybe . . . Now, this place has too much grief of its own.

He can tell the man needs to talk, as he did before, so he asks, Why?

The man tells him a story.

~~~~~

He tells of a counselor, who captured the hearts of all who knew him. He tells of his death, so sudden and unexpected. He tells of broken hearts and dreams, of how the campers, the children that knew and loved him, are afraid to return to the place. 

They fear feeling his presence and not being able to have more.

He tells of a girl who loves this man who died, how they had been friends, then lovers, and now she cries herself to sleep every night.

That man tells Pietro that this girl is his sister, and the man was his best friend. He tells of how he was waiting for the day he could give his sister away to a man they both loved. 

He tells of how that day will never come.

Leave, he says. We have no more room for grief here.  

He leaves before either can learn that they share the same name.

~~~~~


End file.
